An Original Crime
by PuffinAlchemist
Summary: A crew of cutting edge crossover spies heads into the Louvre to steal the Mona Lisa-A very generic crime as pointed out by yours truly, Karkat. It's the perfect crime until one in their ranks decides to stab them in the back. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** So, hello there! Pretty much at the moment this is a Hetastuck one-shot.. More details and translations at the bottom! Auf wiedersehen!

* * *

I flashed a grin up as I looked up at the large ornate building. Steal a painting. Easy as spoon feeding a wriggler. I glanced down at my coworker, who I had picked up the phrase from. He was scowling, as usual, cheeks red. He was dressed like a child; he fit the part except for the obscenities he could spit from his mouth that bypassed even my language comprehension.

"Hey Karkat, you ready?"

"Shut up Arthur. C'est des connanies." He spat up at me, gingerly taking my hand as I offered it. "Let's get this over with, 'mon pere.'"

"Language…" I started off, Karkat in tow. We were the surveillance team, scope out the area and create a nice diversion. We walked in, my firm hand holding Karkat's limp one. He wasn't happy with his role. But he looked adorable with his little red sweater and Asterix backpack.

"Come on, let's find the Mona Lisa."

"Isn't this generic? The Mona Lisa?" Karkat has seen enough spy movies to know it was a prime target.

"Yeah, but we're not generic. We have a plan that'll work." I saluted a guard, his auburn hair in a ponytail, blue eyes shadowed by his cap. Toris would get the painting from the back doors to our hideout. He was the only one with enough dignity to ride a Vespa with a big canvas bag on his back. Plus, he was as sly as a fox, and knew the streets better than anyone.

"Stop that." Karkat elbowed me in the side, eyes narrowing. "You're my tourist step-father, fuckass. Not the manager of the museum."

"That would make me the curator, git." I retorted. "Come on, this place is closing in a couple hours." We approached the painting; it was flocked by four guards and multiple tourists.

"4 guards, 10 by 5 radiuses…" Karkat murmured, looking at the ceiling like a bored child. "Cameras every 15.5 feet; stay at the one of two points in their 180 degree movement for 7 seconds."

"Got it, brainiac." I smirked, inspecting the painting. It was an original, all right.

"Shut your mouth. I was repeating it for Sollux. Gamzee is in position. Already." He sighed; I could feel his palms beginning to sweat.

"A little early, he expects too much of us. What about Ivan?"

"He is too. Can we check out the layout of the rest of the building now?" Karkat dug his sharp fingernails into my palm, pulling at me.

"Okay, we can go."

As the museum began to close, we sat outside the museum, waiting for someone to let us in. Finally, Ivan tapped on the glass from the inside, smiling slightly. We stood up, slipping inside.

"Everything as planned?" Karkat grumbled.

Ivan nodded, saying something in his thick Russian accent. Then, seeing our confused faces, he repeated it. "Toris is in the back. Let's get working, Sollux got the computers down."

I nodded, and we crept down the halls, as silent as possible. As we approached the room for the Mona Lisa, I turned on my small radio. "Sollux, the walkie talkie signal."

"On it. But remember, you won't be able to thpeak with me afterwardth." I nodded, and there was a silence. "You nodded, didn't you?" He asked dully.

"Yeah." And the radio turned off. I turned to the others. "The radio signals are down. Let's get cracking."

Ivan smiled, but it was a wicked one. He took a few steps forwards, waving at the guards, who drew their guns.

"Privyet, boys." He pulled a small gun with a silencer attached to it out of his belt loop, shooting the men before they could react.

Karkat tugged at my sleeves. "It was hard to miss that. We have two minutes."

I smiled reassuringly. "On it." I jogged up to the painting, lifting it gingerly from its holder. "I've got it. Let's go." Karkat held his hands out for it. He was surprisingly good at grunt work, but this was a painting, for God's sake. "I'm not weak, I have it."

We took quick steps down the halls; there were no guards, which was unnerving. We were out the back door in a flash. Toris was waiting for us, propped up against his Vespa, bag to hold the painting held apprehensively in his slim fingers.

"There you are, I was getting worried." He said in his quiet way. "Let's get this baby outta here."

"I have it." I said like in the museum, pulling the painting towards me.

"Stop this crap, Arthur, we have to go." Toris pulled the painting from my grasp, just as I shoved the barrel of my hidden gun into his temple. Toris narrowed his eyes.

"You're such an idiot." He said softly, whacking me harshly in the head with the frame of the painting.

"Don't destroy the painting, fuckass!" Karkat cried.

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**AN:** I felt like that comment from Karkat was very fitting for the end of a chapter, even if it seems like the story continues. Which I hope it will do so. But right now I'm trying to stray from the story path of The Italian Job and go solo. If I could only figure out how to end the chapter without disappointing anyone. And not make people angry with feels and abrupt character cuts. Adieu!

-Puffin

*C'est des connanies=French=this is bullshit

*Mon pere=French=my father (masculine possessive)

*Privyet=Russian=Hello


	2. Chapter 2

All right, chapter two! This next chapter is relatively short, as I had writers block after a bit, and wrote myself into a corner I could not get out of. I will be changing the viewpoint of this chapter, as it is told by Sir Karkat Vantas. It is quite literally a continuation of the chapter, as it was a bit hard to write the rest of the chapter without changing views, as England has now assumed the command as antagonist. Go Thick-brows!

Till the afterword!

-Puffin

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Toris rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Karkat." He said with an unusually outgoing tone. He whacked Arthur with the frame of the Mona Lisa again, checking for scuffs.

"Ivan, you have a gun. Shoot him!" I said indignantly.

"Da, I do, but they're too close together." He said as Arthur grabbed the painting, yanking at it harshly.

"Just shoot!"

Ivan shook his head in defeat, shooting at round at Arthur. We both heard the sound of canvas ripping, and Toris bellowing in Lithuanian.

"And you said to be careful!" He peeked through a hole in the painting.

"But you didn't die, asshole." I stated bluntly. I caught sight of Arthur turning and pointing a gun at us.

"Arthur, you know you can't shoot us." I scoffed. "Vests."

"How about your head, lad?" Arthur cocked a thick eyebrow. I was about to argue at his word choice to name me, when he promptly shot Ivan in the head.

I let out a little scream of horror, frozen.

There was a loud rip, and a leather boot burst through the painting, hitting Arthur in the back sharply. I looked up as Toris pulled his leg back through it carefully. He held out his hand to me.

"Come on, before he fixes his back."

I took his hand, shaking ever so slightly. "What about-"I glanced back for a moment.

"Shut up, we have to go." Toris placed me roughly on the back of the Vespa, face a grim frown. "The painting isn't worth much anymore, but I guess we can still take it." He murmured. With final hesitant choice, he shoved the painting in the canvas bag and literally threw it into my arms.

"Let's go!" I said quickly as I caught the painting, the coppery smell of blood creeping in under my nose.

Toris swung his leg over the seat, handing me skater helmet with a smirk. I gave him the bird, swearing under my breath and put on the helmet. He jangled his Doctor Who keychain as he started up the motorbike, revved it, and we shot off through the streets of France.

* * *

Well then, that was a cliff hanger! My my, you Russia fans are going to kill me now, huh? Sorry about killing off Russia, I'm not good at writing him as you can tell, and that's how I usually kill of characters. Or if I love them and for the sake of being mean I kill them, then cry about it whenever the character's name is brought up. But more on the story, yes, Lithuania likes Doctor Who, it's a headcanon. But if we're talking in this fanfic's terms, it's the fact that England maybe got Lithuania into Doctor Who. If you are one of those people who doesn't know the human country names, England is Arthur and Lithuania is Toris. If you didn't figure that out before the end of the 2nd chapter, shame on you. From here on out, there be monsters, because I'm done transferring this fanfic from my iPod to my computer. Well, this has been a long afterword-and very confusing to look at-but I have more to say. If you've seen the Italian Job, you can probably see where this is going. If not, just go rent the stinking movie. It's facking amazing.

Translations/Clarifications-

Da=Russian=Yes

Doctor Who=British= A science fiction show on BBC. It includes an alien, the Doctor, who travels around in the TARDIS, which is disguised as a 1969 London Police Box, and fights evil aliens that attack Earth.

Adieu!

-Puffin

(PS: If you didn't know either of the translations/clarifications, shame on you. Shame shame shame.)

2


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